[Douglas G. Brown]

John,
Are you any relation to the maker of the Whitworth gun? Or, to the company which made the Whitworth nuts and bolts of 1950 era British cars?

[Graham King]

I could have taken a Luger to Lew Grade for not funding my film noir project in the sixties, stalling my destiny for decades. Business is tougher now. Nobody can predict box-office success: audiences are fickle; outsider risks put money in the bank (who the heck imagined Depp cast as some gecko?!!!) More recently I’d targeted Carey Mulligan for my lead. But since playing Sally Sparrow opposite Tennant’s Doctor Who, her career’s taken off; she’s unaffordable!- doesn’t even return my calls, the little diva!
So… what sells? Rom-Coms need big names; sci-fi schlock (some Alien gestation doomfest?)… or fantasy wizardry? But today’s viewer is too apt to don judge’s garb, panning our special effects on some nitpicking blog while loading up with pizza. Big bangs don’t come cheap; but any shot that’s not state-of-the-art execution won’t survive the attack.
Which brings me back to dark thoughts of that Luger.

[John Whitworth]

We Whitworths are all one. Sir Joseph Whitworth is indeed a relative of mine, as is (was) Air Commodore Whitworth who had a part in the Dambusters raids. Alas I cannot claim kin with the distinguished counter-tenor. Though perhaps...

[Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead]

Originally Posted by Graham King

I could have taken a Luger to Lew Grade for not funding my film noir project in the sixties, stalling my destiny for decades. Business is tougher now. Nobody can predict box-office success: audiences are fickle; outsider risks put money in the bank (who the heck imagined Depp cast as some gecko?!!!) More recently I’d targeted Carey Mulligan for my lead. But since playing Sally Sparrow opposite Tennant’s Doctor Who, her career’s taken off; she’s unaffordable!- doesn’t even return my calls, the little diva!
So… what sells? Rom-Coms need big names; sci-fi schlock (some Alien gestation doomfest?)… or fantasy wizardry? But today’s viewer is too apt to don judge’s garb, panning our special effects on some nitpicking blog while loading up with pizza. Big bangs don’t come cheap; but any shot that’s not state-of-the-art execution won’t survive the attack.
Which brings me back to dark thoughts of that Luger.

Nice one, Graham. Lew Grade's Muppet connection feels like something of a burthen here.

[Graham King]

Cheers Carolyn! And respect for the clever bods who posted theirs, above.

“My obsessive-compulsive wordplay starts at breakfast, when cooking porridge leads (via brose, ambrosia and gruel) to ‘Luger’. Thence, I take a shot at eating… ‘I Shot’… the porridge IS hot! Oats tinge my thoughts: gestation of ideas. Stirring it, I ponder: consistency, density… destiny. Is this my fate? Perpetual thesaurus entanglements, associations, anagrams? Who can judge? Not I, Toni. I finish my bowlful; full, bow to don a pullover with a nod and shrug.
Suddenly I look through the window: wow! din of birds… Evidently those sparrows’ ethos allows rows: spar, they do! Noisily competing for a date, a mate, nest made, eggs laid, hatching to time. A gecko scampers, as if electrified by their shocking energy (‘AC's amperage socks it to me').
Likewise until suppertime: microwave zapping pizza with pizzazz, ping! Then zzzz…
I blog keenly about myself, avid but no diva, to encourage others sharing this OCD, Doc.”

[Peter Goulding]

Christ, Graham, my head hurts just reading that!

When she was threatened on her blog by a Luger-wielding judge from Baden-Baden, she simply laughed it off. When he sent her a slice of gecko pizza, the little foetuses frozen in gestation inside the Mozzarella bubbles, she dismissed him as a nut-job.
But when he compared her Madame Butterfly to the twittering of a sick sparrow, the diva knew she needed to regain control of her own destiny. Pausing only to don her Queen of the Night costume, she travelled south to the German spa town and slit his throat.

[Peter Goulding]

Not sure if cogent applies in this case -

There are six million Lugers in Berlin.
That’s a fact – it’s not up to us to judge.
We must don our shawls and bow beneath the sky.

There are two million geckos in Harbin.
That’s the truth – it’s a fact we cannot fudge
and I’ll blog about statistics till I die.

I’ve spent my whole life waiting in gestation,
struggling in this diva nation.
It’s my destiny to love you till I die.

There are five million sparrows in Cochin.
Yes it’s true – and they do not hold a grudge
even when they end up in a pizza pie.

[Graham King]

The great experiment is complete: mutated reptile embryos’ tailored gestation, harvesting- and successful integration! Chameleon- and python-derived mouthparts equip me to snare, despatch with poison then swallow (whole) small passing prey (a sparrow or rat) in one slick flick and gulp. Gecko skin transplants facilitate climbing; scale armour insulates: no walls nor electrified barbs hinder me! My old Kommandant would exult, had his own Luger not concluded his premature despair. In exile I perfected our project. I chuckle: recalling panicked rumours, blogs by would-be investigative divas, even news reports that my nightly excursions triggered: ‘chupacabra’, indeed! What if I find my taste now for live stock, not sauerkraut; brats rather than bratwurst; peons more than pizza? Cold-blooded? Yes; the Komodo dragon brain implant enhances ruthlessness; I remain cool under pressure. Indeed, I maintain an unblinking chill as the judge dons his robe to rule on my destiny.